


Nothin' but a Fool's Game

by nerdytf84fan



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthur is one angry boi and John tries to help, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Young Arthur Morgan, Young John Marston, also why isn't there a tag for the strange man?, here we go with the angst again, mention of Bessie Matthews, mentions of Eliza and Isaac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 16:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytf84fan/pseuds/nerdytf84fan
Summary: It's been one year since Arthur's found Eliza and Isaac's graves, and by either dumb-luck or fate, John has found the culprit. It's news that will no doubt take them both down a dark path of revenge, but John's gone too far to turn back now.





	Nothin' but a Fool's Game

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea for this fic came to me after hearing Arthur say a handful of times that revenge is a fool's game. It had me thinking why he believes so strongly in this, especially since they're a band of outlaws, and Dutch seems to have no qualms pursuing revenge. And so here we are!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this short fic, and thanks for stopping by!

The air was thick that summer night, and it wasn't the humidity that made it impossible to breathe easy.

Today marked one year since Arthur had ridden back to camp for the last time from a trip to see Eliza and Isaac. John used to tease him about his visits, call them his little social calls, and rib him more than was necessary. Arthur would take the comments in stride, teasing him in turn by making a crack about John's inability to swim or his ‘greasy’ appearance and how he’d never seen a single bar of soap in his life. It had become a comfortable routine. Arthur would leave for a few days, then return to John's jeering.

The regular disappearances and brotherly banter, however, had all come to a grinding halt a year ago.

Arthur had returned to camp that day looking like hell, his eyes red and listless and staring at nothing as if his mind was miles away. It was an image seared into John's memory, one that he had tried over and over to forget. While he'd never admit it outright, he had always looked up to Arthur. The older outlaw was a pillar of strength in his eyes, someone who he knew he could lean on and trust without question. He'd watched Arthur ride into the thick of danger without so much as a grimace, could remember when Arthur had taken a bullet to his shoulder with only a grunt and had kept fighting without fail. To see him so completely devastated and guilt-ridden had turned John’s world upside down.

As he recalled that awful day, John stared at the campfire's flames as they licked at the logs. His mouth went dry as he glanced up at Arthur, who sat across from him, and watched as the smoldering end of his cigarette matched the warm glow of the coals as he took a drag.

John shifted, the back of his shirt sticking to his damp skin uncomfortably. He had ridden hard back to camp from a saloon in the nearby town. He'd overheard a drunken man talking earlier that night, and at first, he hadn't paid him any mind. The stranger had been grating on his nerves as he boasted about his wrongs and all that he stole. It was when his tone become remorseful that John found his interest piqued. He slipped into the conversation with ease, and while talking had never been his strong suit, getting others to talk was as easy as downing whiskey. John had coaxed the stranger into describing his woes, flattering him by insisting that a man as clever as him couldn’t _possibly_ have a job go wrong on him. It was all the encouragement the stranger needed to start talking. The man described how he'd made a mistake and wound up robbing the wrong home while drunk. He'd only come away with ten bucks from a mother and child, had left them both 'regrettably' dead, and John felt the air in the saloon turn frigid as it dawned on him.

He had found the man who had murdered Arthur's family.

The blood had drained from John’s face, and he had to force himself to take a swig from his glass of whiskey to hide his reaction.

Of course, John had left the saloon shortly after, and had hung around waiting for the man to leave himself. It’d taken longer than he would’ve liked, and after following the drunken man to his camp, John had ridden back as quickly as he could. Yet as he sat fidgeting with his hands, his heart waging war with itself, he considered leaving it be. There was no doubt that the news would take them both down a dark road, but John had gone too far to turn back now.

John opened his mouth to speak, swallowed, and tried again. "Today marks a year, don't it?"

It was a rhetorical question, and the silence that followed made him wish he had Hosea's tact.

"_Don't,_" Arthur finally snapped.

The venom in Arthur's voice stung. It was a warning as clear as any, one that he’d received more times than he could count, and it made him hesitate before he finally spoke again. "I found him."

Arthur's eyes flicked up instantly to meet his, glinting with both curiosity and ire as the end of his cigarette glowed brighter. "What're you gettin' at?"

"The bastard who murdered them, I know where he is,"

Arthur's hard stare was unrelenting, his gaze like ice as his eyes narrowed. "I swear if this is a joke, Marston..."

He didn't need to finish the threat. The look in his eye promised violence, and John quickly shook his head. "Would I really joke about that sort of thing? I found him in a saloon and got him talking to make sure I had the right guy and followed him to his camp."

Arthur's skeptical glare didn’t waver as he considered John’s news. "Are you absolutely sure?"

“Yes, and if I’m wrong, I swear I’ll give you my full share from our next two jobs, promise,”

He took one last long drag on his cigarette and breathed the smoke out through his nose before tossing it into the fire. “You better not be wrong about this, Marston.”

John nodded and scrambled to his feet to follow Arthur as he strode over to the hitching post. Arthur wasted no time saddling up Boadicea, and John fumbled with the billet strap to Old Boy’s saddle. There was a tremor that had crept into his hands. They were actually doing this. The two of them were pursuing revenge, and John knew Arthur had no intention of playing nice once they found the man who’d murdered his family. In the back of John’s mind, he couldn’t help but wonder what he was getting them into, and while he wouldn’t dare to admit it, he feared the possibility of worsening Arthur’s grief.

The outlaw hadn’t been the same since he’d found Eliza and Isaac’s grave, and helping him track down their killer was the only way John felt like he could help. He wasn’t good at words like Hosea or Dutch, and he certainly didn’t have the comforting, motherly touches of Miss Grimshaw. There were nights where John spent hours lying awake in his bedroll, staring at the canvas ceiling as he tried to think of what to say to Arthur. It left him sorely wishing he could comfort the man who was the closest thing he had to a brother. After all, how many nights had Arthur spent comforting him when his sleep had been plagued with nightmares? John couldn’t even begin to count the long, sleepless nights spent sharing the same bedroll with Arthur while he had soothed and calmed John's fears.

Only now had John’s search for ways to comfort Arthur been fruitful. His window of opportunity had finally come, and he was going to show Arthur that he cared in the best way he knew how. Not with words, or gentle caresses, but through action.

The full moon made their trek easier as they pushed their mounts, Arthur following John’s lead as their horses galloped along winding paths and over rolling hills. Neither of them said a word, and the pounding of hooves and choir of crickets was the only thing that filled the thick silence between them. Occasionally, John would glance over his shoulder at Arthur and feel his stomach knot.

Surely, they both knew this was crazy.

This was a fool’s game.

But it was for Arthur all the same.

They slowed their horses to a stop as the orange glow of a dying fire appeared on the horizon. The first light of dawn had started to stretch its fingers across the sky behind granite mountains, and Arthur withdrew his binoculars from his satchel.

John shifted his weight in his saddle as he watched him. “Well?”

“It’s deserted,” he answered as he tucked his binoculars away, “although, I reckon he didn’t leave too long ago. Let’s go see what we can find.”

They reached the campsite in no time, and they dismounted to properly investigate. John had never been much of a tracker, but he tried his best to help in any way he could.

“There,” Arthur finally said as he crouched down to examine some horse tracks, “looks like the tracks lead west.”

“Ain’t there a town out that way?”

“Sure is,”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Arthur drew a deep breath through his nose before straightening himself. “Now’s the time to back out if you want to, John. There won’t be any hard feelings if you do. This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

John knew he meant well, but that didn’t make the question feel any less like a kick from a horse. From the start, he’d had an idea of what this would lead to, and he intended to be there for Arthur no matter the cost. “Are you kiddin’ me? I’m riding with you, whatever it takes. I ain’t a kid no more!”

The corner of his lips quirked up into a small smile as he adjusted his hat and mounted Boadicea. “Well if that’s how you feel, we better ride before the trail turns cold.”

It was about an hour past sunrise when they rode into a small cattle town. All was mostly quiet. Every once in a while, the baying of a dog would disrupt the quiet morning bustle of the town. John didn’t recognize a single inch of the place, and he realized he hadn’t ever been this far west of camp before. Yet it was his unfamiliarity with the place that made the stranger’s horse hitched outside a general store all the more familiar. It stood out like a red marker on a map, and he reached over and grasped Arthur’s arm as he nodded toward the Thoroughbred.

“There, that’s his horse,”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the horn of his saddle tightened. “Let’s hang back here and see where he goes.”

The wait was torturous, and while it only lasted ten minutes at most, it felt like an eternity for the two outlaws. Arthur had even lit a cigarette in the meantime, and John had nearly convinced himself he was mistaken when the man finally appeared. Arthur took one last drag before flicking it to the side.

“Well?”

“That’s him,”

“Follow my lead,” Arthur said as he encouraged his horse to a walk. John did the same, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. He wasn’t sure what Arthur had in mind for the stranger’s fate, but it didn’t matter. John would follow him straight into hell if given the option. His only concern was the time of day. Arthur could do whatever he wanted to the no-good bastard, and John wouldn’t judge him for it, but they still needed to get back to camp without being followed or recognized. They weren’t part of some trifle band of merry men going unnoticed by the law anymore. After robbing over fifteen banks, the law had been working hard to put a stop to them. The Van der Linde gang was now a group of wanted men and women, and last John checked, they all had a hefty bounty on their head.

He glanced over at Arthur, noting how fiery his eyes were. “What’s the plan?”

“We follow him for now, maybe he’s got a house around here somewhere,”

“And then what?”

“Now I know you ain’t that stupid, John. That man’s gonna pay for what he’s done. Murdering a mother and her child in cold blood, and all for what? A fistful of dollars?” Arthur shook his head, “He deserves what’s comin’ to him.”

“I agree, but we can’t draw any attention to ourselves. You can do whatever the hell you want to that guy, but we gotta think this through.”

“Sure,” Arthur replied, “let’s just follow him first and see where he goes.”

They trailed behind at a distance and acted as natural as they could in the small town. John squinted as the wind kicked up the dust on the road as he forced himself to release the tension from his shoulders. As they made their way down the main road, they caught a few of the locals’ attention. Yet, much to John’s relief, their interest only lasted for a brief moment.

Eventually, the stranger turned right, and once they had finally taken the turn themselves, they saw him begin riding at a canter down a road that led away from town. As Arthur adjusted the reins in his hand, a voice to their right pulled their attention away.

“Gentlemen,”

John turned in his saddle to see a man dressed in a three-piece suit and a top hat. He frowned, feeling an odd sense that he knew the man despite not seeing him once in his life. Just the man’s stare alone caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise, and John could have sworn that the wind had shifted.

Arthur drew a deep breath, his patience wearing thin as he tipped his hat. “Mister.”

“I see you’ve found what you’re looking for,”

“We’re just passing through, mister, now if you’ll excuse us—”

“Of course, you have a trail to follow. I don’t want to keep the two of you from taking your place upon the judgment seat.” The stranger paused as his dark eyes shifted to John. “Although, you don’t look too excited about that, John.”

Arthur and John exchanged a confused look, and the older outlaw’s hand lowered to rest on his pistol. The man beside them had no business knowing John’s name, and he’d be damned if he let anyone so much as lay a finger on John.

“Easy there, Mr. Morgan, I’m just an accountant,”

John tensed. How did he know their names? “Do I know you?”

“I hope so. We’ve run into each other before, albeit briefly. You were at the end of your rope the last time we met.”

This time Arthur was the one who stiffened, unsure if the stranger was using the phrase literally or figuratively. Dutch had killed those men who had tried to hang John all those years ago, and even if one of them _had _survived, the strange man who stood before them couldn’t have been much older than thirty. “We ain’t got time for this nonsense, c’mon John.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will someday. Everyone does eventually. See you around, cowboys.”

Arthur furrowed his brow as the man turned and walked away. His nonchalance sent a chill down his spine, and he tried to ignore the unease that had settled in his gut as he urged Boadicea to a canter after the man they were after.

John, on the other hand, wasn’t as successful in shrugging off the encounter as he followed Arthur. The strange man’s stare felt like it went right through him like he knew his innermost thoughts. He couldn’t shake how the temperature had dropped either. It was the middle of summer, and even in the cool of the morning, the air had felt abnormally cold in the man’s presence. Even now, he couldn’t shake the chill that lingered with him nor the tightness he felt around his throat.

“Do we know that guy?” He finally dared to ask.

“Don’t think so,” he then looked over at John, noticing the young man was still shaken. “I wouldn’t worry about it, John. He’s just another crazed bastard who don’t know what the hell he’s talkin’ about.” 

“If you say so,”

Arthur sighed. “Look, don’t let it get to you. If you’re really up for this, I need you at your best, not a nervous wreck.”

John drew a shaky breath. “Right.”

It didn’t take them long to make up for their lost time. As the trees thickened, a small cabin off the road came into view. It was a modest structure that certainly needed a few renovations. The roof over the porch had started to sink, and more than a handful of shingles needed replacing. Arthur straightened himself in his saddle as he took a deep breath.

This was it. His day of retribution had come.

They slowly and carefully made their way to the house before dismounting. John could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he pulled his bandana over his nose.

They exchanged a look as Arthur did the same. "Are you sure you want in on this?"

"I already gave you my answer!" John hissed with a scowl.

Arthur nodded and tried the handle. It gave, and he eased the door open. It was eerily quiet inside, and once he determined that the coast was clear, Arthur entered the house. John followed suit and carefully shut the door behind them. A man humming in a room to their right caught their attention, and Arthur took his rope in his hand as John drew his knife. They crept silently along the walls of the house, placing each of their steps with care on the wooden floorboards until they reached the room. The door had been left ajar, but from what Arthur could tell, the man was alone. He forced himself to relax his shoulders, drew a deep breath, and kicked the door open.

Time slowed as the stranger whirled around, his eyes bright with fear as he tried reaching for his revolver. Arthur was quicker, though, and the adrenaline was already coursing through his veins. His rope was around the man in an instant. He cinched it tight, and John wasted no time holding a knife to his throat as he hauled him back onto his feet.

Arthur glared at the stranger as he pulled over a nearby chair. As he fisted his hand in the man's shirt, John managed to lower his knife just before the older outlaw shoved him into the seat, and he wasted no time securing his restraints.

"Who the hell are you? What do you want?" The stranger demanded as he struggled unsuccessfully.

Arthur slugged the man in the jaw. "You ain’t in the position to ask those things, and I don’t like your tone."

"Look," he grimaced, "if it's money you want, there's a box of it in the dresser drawer. Just take it and be on your way."

"That ain’t why I’m here," he snapped as his fist collided with the man’s face once more.

The gentleman swore under his breath and spat out the blood from his split lip. "Come on, we can at least act like civilized men, can't we?"

Without warning, Arthur drew his hunting knife and plunged it into the man's thigh. It pulled a sharp cry from him and he panted as Arthur leaned in close.

"Don't you fuckin’ _dare_ lecture me on what civilized looks like!"

Sweat had started to bead at the stranger's brow as he doubled over against his restraints. "Please, just tell me what you want!"

He gave the knife a sharp twist, his eyes burning bright with fury. "What I want can't be given."

John had only seen Arthur this angry a handful of times, and seeing him so full of rage yet so calm and collected on the outside always sent a chill through him. The older outlaw was capable of the worst violence, which made his quiet rage all the more unsettling.

Arthur pulled the knife out and sunk it slowly into his shoulder next. "You see, you stole something from me, and that can't be undone."

"Just name your price! I’ll give you whatever the hell you want." He pleaded through gritted teeth.

Arthur was quiet for what felt like a lifetime before he finally spoke. "Ten dollars."

The man blinked. "What?"

"Ten. Dollars."

"_Ten dollars?_" The stranger exclaimed. "You're doing this all for ten fucking dollars?"

"No,” he replied, his tone dangerously cold, “I'm doing this because you killed my child and his mother for ten bucks."

The man’s face blanched as his eyes flew wide. He had finally connected the dots. “That was an accident! I swear!”

Arthur withdrew the knife and drove it into his other thigh, earning yet another strangled cry of pain. “Yeah? That’s funny, my knife just _accidentally_ stabbed your leg.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Sorry doesn’t bring them back!” Arthur snapped as he pulled the knife out and held it to his throat.

John watched with bated breath. The tension in the room was thick, and he braced himself for what Arthur would do next. His brother was breathing heavily by now, his wrath and ire seeping from him like oil from the ground.

Eventually, Arthur lowered the blade, a disgusted sneer wrinkling his nose and the corners of his eyes. “I wish killing you would make us even.”

John furrowed his brow as he watched Arthur straighten himself and clean his hunting knife on the stranger’s shirt. The man breathed a sigh of relief as he relaxed against the back of his chair. Arthur sheathed his knife as he turned away, and John made a point to make eye contact with him. Surely this wasn’t all Arthur wanted out of this. Was he really letting the man who had killed his little family get off scot-free? The man who had put such a dent in his self-esteem and confidence? The older outlaw could see the question burning in John’s eyes, and he answered by drawing his pistol and shooting the man between the eyes.

John nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of it. The familiar stench of cordite filled the air, and they both stared at the corpse that had slumped over.

“Holy shit, Arthur,”

He holstered his weapon and looked over at John. “Go ahead and judge if you’d like, I don’t give a shit.”

John huffed. “It ain’t that! I just wasn’t expecting you to go through with it is all.”

Arthur’s eyes lowered to the floor, although, from what John could tell, he didn’t regret what he’d done. “Me neither.”

His stare flicked over to the corpse before returning to Arthur. “Well, might as well loot the place while we’re at it, right?”

“Sure,”

“Best we be quick about it, then,”

They scoured the room for anything valuable but found nothing worth taking other than the box the man had referred to earlier. As Arthur searched a chest, John rummaged through the other drawers, and what he found froze him to the spot. His chest tightened, and the shake he’d felt earlier returned to his hands as he picked up a jewelry box. He swallowed and dared to open it only to find a few necklaces and an old photo of the stranger and a woman.

John swore under his breath as his blood turned to ice.

“You find somethin’, John?”

Unable to speak, he turned and held his findings out to Arthur.

Arthur’s stare lowered to the photograph. His disposition changed at once, the blood draining from his face as his wide eyes met John’s. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

A nod was all John could manage, and he followed Arthur’s lead as they hastily made their way toward the door. However, they hadn’t gotten far when they heard the doorknob to the front door turn. The sound stopped the two men in their tracks. Like clockwork, they drew their guns, unsure of who was behind the door and hoping it wasn’t who they thought it was. Arthur tensed as the door swung open.

A woman entered through the door, and Arthur’s eyes lowered in horror to find she was several months pregnant. His posture went rigid as she shut the door behind her, quickly realizing what he had done. They both stood stock still as she hung her shawl on a nearby chair.

“You didn’t tell me you were having guests over, Emmett! If I had known I would’ve—" She stopped short as her eyes met Arthur’s. A look of fear took over her soft features, her eyes going wide as her face paled.

Arthur holstered his gun. “Ma’am, we—”

“Where’s Emmett?”

He didn’t answer, although he didn’t have to. His silence and the blood spattering on his shirt told the woman where Emmett was. Without hesitation, she pushed her way past John and Arthur to investigate for herself. John looked over at Arthur to find that his eyes were glazed over, and he had to take the older outlaw by the arm and pull him along to get his feet moving.

As they mounted their horses, a blood-curdling scream filled the air, and Arthur’s stomach turned at the sound as they raced away.

Hosea checked his pocket watch for the umpteenth time that evening. He’d noticed Arthur and John’s disappearance early that morning when he made his coffee. They had both left without so much as a word, which wouldn’t have normally bothered Hosea, but things were different now. They were wanted men and women on the run, and it had been decided that at least one person in camp had to know where you were going and when you would be back. It was a rudimentary safety measure at best, but it was better than nothing. Except, no one knew where his two boys had gone.

It was now six o'clock. Arthur and John had been gone for at least twelve hours, and the thought filled him with a cold sense of dread. There was no telling where they were or when they were coming back, and he feared that something had happened to the two young men he saw as his own flesh and blood.

He had preoccupied himself with making a salve using some herbs when the sound of hooves reached his ears. Hosea lifted his head instantly, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him when he saw Arthur and John hitching their horses.

They were safe.

He breathed out a shaky sigh as he rose to his feet and marched himself over to them, feeling his anger replace the fear he’d felt a moment ago. Arthur had started to head over towards his tent in haste when he stepped in front of him. He watched as the young man’s eyes widened in surprise, his posture going rigid.

“Where the hell have you been?” He demanded, his ire lacing his voice as he sized up Arthur with worried eyes. The blood spattering on his shirt made Hosea’s chest grow tight. There was no doubt that the blood hadn’t come from the usual thieving and killing they did. Arthur’s eyes had always been a window into his soul, and the murky storm of emotion brewing behind them made Hosea fear the answer to his question. All he could do was brace himself for the answer.

Arthur’s gaze dropped to his boots.

“I’m sorry, Hosea, it’s my fault. I found the guy responsible for murdering Eliza and Isaac.” John supplied in Arthur’s stead as he walked over to them.

Hosea furrowed his brow as he examined Arthur once more, his anger diffusing all at once. John’s answer explained almost everything, from the faraway look in Arthur’s eyes to the obvious crushing guilt weighing him down. He swallowed as he wrapped his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and ushered him to his tent.

He sat Arthur down on his cot without another word, sitting down beside him as he gently rubbed his back. Arthur’s breath hitched as his head fell into his hands, his fingers gripping his hair until his knuckles turned white. It had been a year since he’d seen Arthur so shaken, and he feared he already knew the story that Arthur had to tell.

“I thought killing the bastard would take the pain away, Hosea,”

“And?”

“It didn’t change anything, and it made me no different,”

“I’m not sure if I understand what you mean,” he replied. It was a lie, but he wanted the man to talk. Prying information out of Arthur was nothing new, and usually, Hosea tried his best not to nag. He was a grown-ass man, after all, but Hosea could tell that what had happened today was too grave for him to allow Arthur to internalize it all.

Arthur drew a deep breath as he lifted his head from his hands, daring to make eye contact with Hosea. “He had a wife who was expecting.”

He pulled him close, encouraging Arthur to rest his head against his shoulder. Hosea said nothing for a while, offering nothing but his presence as he carefully thought over his next words. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I thought for sure it would do something, take away the guilt or pain,” Arthur said quietly, “_anything, _but all it’s done is widow a poor woman and make her child fatherless.”

“Revenge is a fool’s game, Arthur. It’s a tempting game to play, but in the end, it hurts all parties involved. I’m sorry you had to learn that lesson through experience.”

He shook his head. “How the hell am I gonna live with…with this?”

“The guilt becomes tolerable in time, but until then, it’s not going to be easy,”

Arthur was silent for a while. “Does it still hurt?”

“Does what still hurt?”

“Bessie’s death,”

Hosea drew a deep breath. It had been five years since her passing, and even now, it still felt like he was missing a part of himself. Sure, Dutch meant the world to him, but Bessie had also been his everything during the time Dutch had pursued Susan and Annabelle. The pain ached like a deep wound, some days more so than others, and he knew without a doubt that Arthur had been struggling to navigate his own pain regarding Eliza and Isaac.

“Yes, and I miss her every day,”

“Does it get any better?”

“It does with time,”

Arthur sighed as he straightened himself. He wanted to ease the pain _now_, wanted to stop feeling the bitter grief and guilt that made even the most menial tasks difficult.

“I’m here for you, Arthur,” he said as if reading his mind, “you’re not alone in this.”

“I know, thanks Hosea,”

John restlessly fidgeted as he stood guard. It had been three days since he and Arthur had dealt with the man who’d killed Eliza and Isaac.

Three days since he’d made Arthur’s grief and guilt worse than it had been before. 

His grip on the stock of his rifle tightened. He hadn’t spoken to Arthur since their return. John was certain the entire mess was his fault, and it made him miserable. He hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep either, and while the guilt he felt made him physically ill, he continued to push himself to complete the day’s chores and to stand watch when he was on guard duty. After all, in John’s mind, he deserved every ounce of his misery.

With being as exhausted as he was, he hardly noticed Arthur walking over to his side until he was standing right beside him. It scared him shitless, and he nearly dropped his gun. When he’d recovered, he mumbled a quick apology and started to leave. Despite his haste, Arthur grabbed his wrist and forced him to stop in his tracks.

John drew a shaky breath and forced himself to meet Arthur’s gaze, expecting to see nothing but anger only to meet sad blue eyes.

“You’ve been avoiding me, John,” Arthur said. It was both a question and a statement, and John felt like his heart was going to cave in on itself.

“Arthur…” His voice faltered.

“I know you probably see me as a monster after what I did, and I don’t blame you, but I’m sorry for dragging you into everything,”

John blinked as he felt confusion cloud his mind. “What?”

His brows pulled together. “Ain’t that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

He shook his head. “No, if anything _I’m_ the one who’s sorry. I’m the dumbass who made everything worse! Hell, none of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for me!”

“John—”

“I wanted to do something right for once, to have your back like you’ve always had mine, and all I did was give you more problems to sort out,” John fought back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes as he gauged Arthur’s reaction.

Arthur studied him, clearly unsure of himself. John wanted to run, feeling the older outlaw’s gaze see right through him like it always did, but Arthur still had his wrist in his grip. But John knew better than to try pulling away. He may have been quicker, but Arthur had always been stronger.

“John, it ain’t your fault,” Arthur finally said.

“What do you mean it ain’t my fault?” He snapped.

“_I_ decided to take you up on your offer. It was _my _choice to shoot him, and I am fully responsible for the consequences of my choices.”

“But—” 

Arthur rolled his eyes and pulled him into a tight hug. He felt John tense in his arms before he finally relaxed.

“It ain’t fair that we’ve got all this bullshit we have to deal with,” John finally said as he pulled away.

He scoffed to himself. “No, but we ain’t exactly deserving of a good life.”

“Guess not,”

Arthur looked him over once more as the upward quirk of his mouth disappeared. “If you take away anything from this, John, I hope you learn from my mistake that revenge is a fool’s game.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Killing that man wasn’t worth it. It solved nothin’ and only caused more pain. Just promise me that, okay?”

John wasn’t sure if he fully understood what Arthur was getting at, but he nodded anyway. “Promise.”


End file.
